


To Create Peace

by AmaranthPrincess21



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Royal Reader, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthPrincess21/pseuds/AmaranthPrincess21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are Nestra’s sole casualty, a royal child married to the Nohrian’s eldest royal son. Your parents told you that you are here to create peace, but that is a lie.<br/>You are a prisoner and a hostage. Nestra makes one wrong move or fails to help Nohr to the fullest, and you know King Garon will have your head on a silver platter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Create Peace

One stroke, two strokes, three strokes, four. 

 

Strangers pull at your hair, dressing your body in silk and lace and jewels, talking until your ears want to bleed. “You’re so beautiful in wedding garb,” they say. “Prince Xander so lucky to have someone as beautiful as you as his spouse.” One maid calls you a ray of sunshine. Like a Nohrian would know what sun looks like. The days are dark and cold here, clouds permanently stitched onto the sky. There is no sun here, nor is there any light. Nohr is nothing but a black void, one you will trapped in for the rest of your life. 

 

One button, two buttons, three buttons, four.

 

The last of the tiny pearl buttons are done by a maid, who squeals in delight at your appearance. Her two companions compliment you again, but their words ring hollow. They are trying to be kind, but there is no room in your heart to try and befriend them. These maids are dressing you for the slaughter. One calls out into the hallway and three girls hurry into the room. The youngest bounces off the walls, hugging you and telling you about your beauty and how lucky you are to be getting married.

“You and Xander are going to be so cute together!” she giggles, looking up with you with child-like purple eyes. Once you had been like her, looking forward to your wedding day. But that was years ago, before reality barged in and ravaged everything in sight. Royals could marry for love now, but with the war in Hoshido, children were pawns. You don’t know Xander. You don’t love him. You don’t want to get married. 

“The wedding’s going to start soon. We’ll see you down there, darling,” the oldest sister says, kissing your cheek before leading her sisters downstairs as the maids perfect a few minor details. 

 

One note, two notes, three notes, four.

 

The wedding march is a soft melody that floats on air as it travels through the ballroom. The pitter-patter of rain keeps time with the stringed instruments. Nestra was such a warm, loving place. The sun shined, art flourished, you had been so blessed to be born in such a wonderful place. Nothing is as perfect and warm and homey as Nestra. At least, until the war started. 

War doesn’t just destroy the countries playing the horrid game. Bordering countries are drawn into the black hole and have to pick a side like schoolchildren picking teammates for a group activity. Your father, the king, decided to end Nestra’s history of neutrality by joining Nohr in the war against Hoshido. 

You are Nestra’s sole casualty, a royal child married to the Nohrian’s eldest royal son. Your parents told you that you are here to create peace, but that is a lie.

You are a prisoner and a hostage. Nestra makes one wrong move or fails to help Nohr to the fullest, and you know King Garon will have your head on a silver platter. 

One page, two pages, three pages, four. 

 

The priest slowly reads from a book, marriage rites and vows slithering out of his mouth. Xander holds your hands in his, eyes trained on you. You can’t dare to look away. Not that it matters: if you glanced at your parents, they would motion for you to look back at Xander. 

It wasn’t terrible to look at him. He is so beautiful, with golden hair and crimson eyes. Tall, just the right amount of muscles, the skin of his hands calloused from battle. A perfect jawline and a face that would make most swoon. Deep down, you wonder how it would feel to be held in his arms. How would it feel to have such a gorgeous man hold you? To have a stranger embrace you? 

Nerves boil in your stomach and vomits claws at your innards and up your throat, burning as it climbs. You swallow it down. There are too many emotions swirling in your body. You want to cry, you want scream, you want to run, you want him to hold you, you want your parents to hold you, you want to die, you want to go home.

You fake a smile and recite your vows.

 

One step, two steps, three steps, four. 

 

Xander has you in his arms, carrying you into his bedchamber.  _ Your _ bedchamber. The reception lasted hours. From the early hours of the morning to now, so late in the night it’s technically morning, and the celebrating still going on when you decided to retire. Xander accompanied you to show you to your room. He was quiet as he led you through the maze of hallways. Perhaps he was just as opposed to the marriage as you were.

“May I carry you into our bedroom?” he had asked before you reached the door. It was a tradition, you supposed. You saw it enough in plays and musicals back in Nestra. So you allowed it. 

His foot nudges the door shut and he strides to the bed, gently placing you on the soft silk blanket. He sits at your feet, eyes cast to the ground. Your heart is pounding, each beat thudding against you painfully. It is your wedding night. You know what is expected of you. Xander is handsome and from what you’ve seen, his is fairly kind, albeit quiet. Would he be like that in bed? 

For your marriage to be valid, it must be consummated. You know maids will check the bedsheets for the telltale signs of lovemaking. In the future, you know you are expected to bear his children. He is handsome and it will have to happen eventually. Might as well get it over with.

“Pr - Xander?” Your voice shakes as you get up, moving towards him. Slowly, he looks to you, curiosity in his eyes. Your hand reaches out to touch his face.  _ Get it over with. _

 

One kiss, two kisses, three kisses, four. 

 

His lips are hot on your neck, his breath hotter. Everything is so hot and wet and tight. Light sweat covers your bodies, the sheets trap you to the bed like vines, his skin feels like it’s on fire. You cling to his torso with a vice-like grip, letting his chest slide against yours, the tug of skin against skin sending painful pricks through your system. But it’s nothing compared to the white-hot ecstasy flowing through your veins. 

It’s almost good enough to make you forget about everything.  

 

One beat, two beats, three beats, four.

 

Xander’s heart beats against your skin, your back pressed flush against him. He holds you in his strong arms. He feels wonderful, the bed is soft, the pillow is comfortable. Yet you can’t fall asleep. The room is dark without the candles and maybe if you tried hard enough, you could pretend you were back home.

You’re sore and your heart aches for home, for freedom. Nothing in Nohr can make you forget home. Xander and nothing he can do in bed can heal you. You are a prisoner of Nohr now. You are trapped in this horrid place, all because your parents decided to side with Garon. Because they want an alliance. Because they wanted “to be on the winner’s side of history.” You are nothing more than a pawn, something to be given away without consent and kept in the dark. You are leverage and nothing more. 

And there is nothing that can save you from this terrible place or this loveless marriage.

You are not here to be happy. You are here to create peace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact I actually really don't like Xander so basically I put a lot of myself into the reader, which I usually never do.


End file.
